Page 47 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

THEA

T he gate shuts behind me with a heavy clang that echoes down my spine.

I glance over my shoulder once—at the life I left behind—and then back to the compound in front of me. Stone buildings, looming walls, and training fields dotted with bodies moving in synchronized violence. It doesn’t look like a school.

It looks like a war waiting to happen.

An unfamiliar woman leads me through a courtyard and stops beside a shaded patch of grass.

“Your team,” she says, nodding towards a group of boys admiring a wall of weapons.

They look up when I approach, four pairs of eyes landing on me like I’m some exotic animal they weren’t expecting to see.

I absently bring my hand to my hip, where my birthmark rests.

The birthmark indicating I belong to Ares.

The one who speaks first is tall and already broad-shouldered. His sandy blond hair falls haphazardly into sharp, penetrating eyes.

“This is who we’re paired with?” He folds his arms over his chest with a scoff. “She’s tiny.”

“Everett,” the dark-haired stranger beside him reprimands.

The boy—Everett—scowls but shuts up, though his glare never leaves my face.

The boy on his other side grins so wide it lights up his whole face.

“I’m Krystian,” he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s raw energy contained in a tiny body. “You’re Winnie, right? Pretty name.”

I offer a timid smile in return. “Thanks.”

“I’m Zaid,” greets the boy who defended me, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

He ducks his head, his cheeks tinting pink, and offers me a shy wave.

The last boy says nothing. He simply stares, his gaze almost unsettling. It reminds of an impromptu storm—no warning and capable of decimating entire cities.

A tendril of fear curls around my heart, tightening.

“That’s Rafe,” Krystian introduces, nudging him. “Don’t mind him. He stares at everyone. I think he was dropped on his head one too many times as a baby.”

“Does he talk?” I ask, frowning.

“Sometimes.” Zaid shrugs. “When it matters.”

Rafe doesn’t even blink, his unnerving gaze trained on me.

Everett grunts and turns back to the weapons, studying them as intently as Rafe’s studying me. “Whatever. You’re one of us now, so that means we got your back. Do you know how to use any weapons?”

Krystian throws an arm around my shoulders like we’re already best friends. “Yeah. We’ll look out for you.”

“We’re your boys now,” Zaid agrees, then blushes when he realizes how his words could be construed.

Heat enters my own cheeks.

Your boys.

Why do I like the sound of that?

I’ve never had anyone look after me before or care about me. I know my parents do, in their own way, but this…feels different. More permanent.

Rafe says nothing, but when I meet his eyes, he dips his chin once in the smallest of acknowledgments. Not a greeting. A promise.

I straighten my spine. “Good. Because I’m not here to be protected. I’m here to fight.”

Everett snorts. “We’ll see.”

Krystian whistles low, a wide smile blossoming on his face. “I like her already.”

Good.

Because I like you four already as well.

My palm slams into Everett’s chest, and I twist, using his momentum against him.

He hits the mat hard enough to rattle the floor beneath us.

“Damn,” he breathes, flat on his back.

I drop into a crouch beside him, grinning through the sweat dripping into my eyes. “Told you I could kick your ass without my dagger.”

He exhales a laugh, rough and disbelieving. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. You just got lucky.”

“No luck involved.” I shrug nonchalantly. “I’m just better than you.”

“Brat,” he playfully growls.

“Always.”

Everett props himself up on his elbows, his hair sticking to his forehead and his mouth curved in something halfway between pride and irritation. “You’ve gotten mean in your old age.”

“You’re mean at any age,” I counter, playfully swatting at his shoulder.

We’re close—closer than we probably should be. The air between us tightens, the tension in it sharper than any sword we’ve trained with. His hazel gaze lingers on me, steady and unreadable in a way it never used to be when we were kids.

I’m about to say something—something dumb, probably, or reckless—when the hairs on the back of my neck lift.

I turn my head slowly, my heart already beating faster for reasons that have nothing to do with the spar.

Ares stands at the edge of the training floor, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches. He’s been doing that more and more often—watching us.

Watching me .

His presence is always accompanied by a prickle of awareness and a dozen alarm bells. I know I shouldn’t be afraid—this is Ares, for fuck’s sake, who’s practically our foster father—but still.

I move away from Everett like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.

Ares doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. His eyes are as unreadable as they’ve always been—steel behind glass.

Everett follows my gaze, his eyes narrowing. “How long has he been standing there?”

“No idea.” I climb to my feet and brush off my pants, my pulse still thrumming.

Fuck, I need to stop being so paranoid. Ares is probably just gauging my progress, as all the gods and goddesses are doing. He wants to make sure I don’t drag the team down.

It’s been ten years since I started training with them all, and he still doesn’t trust me.

“Come on,” Everett whispers, jumping to his feet. “Let’s continue training.”

“Yeah,” I respond shakily.

I glance over my shoulder, but Ares is gone.

If Everett didn’t see him as well, I would’ve thought I imagined him in the first place.

“You wanted to see me?” I ask, knocking on the door to Ares’s office.

It’s my twenty-first birthday, and the guys told me they have something planned for tonight. I want to get this meeting over with as quickly as possible.

“Yes, come in,” he calls, his voice slightly breathless.

I step inside, my hands clasped behind my back.

“Did something happen—” I cut myself off as I take in the sight before me.

Ares sits on his office chair, his hand wrapped around his erect dick as he strokes himself.

My eyes widen, and I release a strangled, choking sound.

A wicked grin curves up Ares’s lips, and he begins to move his hand even faster. “You like this? Fuck. All I can think about is how good your pussy would feel wrapped around my cock. Goddamn.”

Horror and disgust mingle in my stomach, but I can’t look away. It’s as if I’m watching two trains approaching from opposite directions and am helpless to stop the inevitable collision.

“Touch your tits, Winnie. Let me see you.”

I just stand there, gawking, and Ares explodes with a roar, ropes of cum covering his shirt.

It’s only then that I get the courage to spin around and race out of the room.

“He won’t come near you again,” Everett vows vehemently.

“Never,” Krystian agrees, kissing my neck.

Zaid’s hand tightens around my own. “Fuck, I can’t believe this. How could he?” He shakes his head with a look of disgust. “He watched you grow up. Practically raised you.”

“He goddamn groomed her,” Everett snarls.

“We need to kill him,” Rafe says softly, his voice a deadly purr.

“No.” I shake my head, still trembling from what I just witnessed.

I immediately returned to the bunkhouse and told the guys what Ares did.

A part of me was worried they wouldn’t believe me, but of course, I needn’t have worried.

“If we hurt Ares, the other gods and goddesses will retaliate. They’ll kill us. ”

And the thought terrifies me.

I’m not worried for myself, though, but my guys. I refuse to allow anything to happen to them, especially defending me. The best thing for all of us is keeping our distance from Ares and pretending that it didn’t happen.

“We’ll do it your way,” Everett agrees, his voice a soft rumble. “But if he tries anything again…”

“Nothing will stop us from killing him,” Rafe finishes.

The next year passes uneventfully.

We train, we fight, and we fuck.

Somewhere along the way, our friendship transitions into a beautiful relationship.

I love these men with the entirety of my being, and I know they feel the same for me.

“Yes, love. Look how beautiful you are riding my cock,” Krystian praises, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave bruises.

Behind me, Everett kisses my neck.

“She’s perfection, isn’t she?” Zaid says from the armchair, where he strokes his cock.

“Perfection,” Rafe agrees.

He stands against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his cock contained within his pants, despite the obvious bulge. I think my blood fae may be a little bit of a masochist. Just a smidge.

I smirk and begin to ride Krystian harder, my breasts bouncing. I rake my nails down my elf’s chest as my orgasm fast approaches.

“Fuck, yes,” I say, lifting my hips and dropping them back down.

And that’s when I feel a weight that’s always accompanied by someone’s eyes on me. The air turns stale and sticky, getting stuck in my throat. My stomach twists painfully, and I slowly peel my eyes away from Krystian’s face.

Ares watches from the doorway, stroking himself.

I gasp, stilling. “What the fuck?”

“Huh?” Krystian’s brows crease, and he tilts his head back to follow the direction of my gaze.

I can tell the exact moment he sees Ares because an incandescent anger—the likes of which I’ve never seen before—crosses his face.

“Motherfucker!”

Everett immediately attempts to cover me with his body, and Rafe stalks towards the door, magic sparking in his palms.

But Ares has already left.

Zaid tucks his now limp dick back in his pants, his expression wild. “We need to leave. Now.”

I should’ve known Ares would never let us go.

A sob catches in my throat as I stare at the unconscious bodies of my lovers. They didn’t stand a chance against the God of War. They’re young. Untrained. Inexperienced.